Hide and Seek
by A Gypsy's Heart
Summary: This is my spin on how the Hannibal movie  should have turned out. More mind games, more chases, more emotional strain, and of course, more bloodshed... Rated T
1. Change in Events

**Ok this is my first FanFic, so reviewers please be kind, but do give me your honest opinion.**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing, all charaters are the creattion of Thomas Harris. I'm just plotting a different journey for them.**

Hide and Seek

Chapter One

Change in Events

"Tell me, Clarice, would you ever say to me, stop? If you loved me you'd stop?" He asked her.

"Not in a thousand years," she replied coldly. False surprise went across Hannibal Lecter's face.

"Not in a thousand years." he repeated. He opened his mouth, revealing his deadly teeth. Lecter leaned in to bite her but stopped short. She did not flinch nor try to free her hair from the refrigerator. He smiled. "That's my girl."

She could only watch as his lips softly descended onto hers. Clarice refused to so much as respond to his soft caressing on her mouth. She remained as stone until pulled away to face her. A single tear betrayed her true feelings, and it did not go unnoticed, but the sounds of helicopters and police sirens were growing outside.

"Good-bye," said Lecter as he stepped back and made his way to the door. Clarice suddenly snapped out of her trance and tried frantically to free herself. The doctor turned back to watched for only a moment before exited the room.

"Dr. Lecter! Dr. Lecter!" she shouted back to the door. She realized escaping was a fruitless attempt with the amount of morphine in her system._ I need to stop him. Stop him. Stop! Come back… Wait, what did I just think?_ Clarice knew she was loosing strength, and possibly consciousness, rapidly and he was getting away. She was desperate. "Hannibal!"

Though he was almost out the backdoor when his name filled the air, he heard it as clear as a bell. A smiled played over his lips. For a split second, he almost turned back to confront her, but with a quick glance at his watch, that thought was dashed. Thus he disappeared into the night.

Back in the kitchen, Clarice was left trying to fight both the refrigerator's hold on her and the morphine weakening her body. In one last attempt, she wedged her fingers in the door and caught the latch. With all her strength, she pulled the door open and freed her long ponytail.

She collapsed to the kitchen floor with a thud. From her vantage point, she could she the hutched corpse of Paul Krendler in the wheelchair, missing the frontal lobe of his brain. In shock as to the reality of what had just happened, she lurched back in horror. With what ever strength she had left, she crawled out of the kitchen into the hall.

She pulled herself to her feet by way of the staircase railing and managed to walk to the door. After carefully stepping off of the front stoop, Clarice looked around for any sign of Lecter. He was no where to be found in her frantic search. She did, however, start seeing flashing lights coming up the road and hear loud shrieks of police sirens.

Clarice ignored them for the time being and stumbled over to the lake, where a boat was drifting on the surface. She walked closer to the banks of the water to see if this was Hannibal's means of escape. Just as the boat began to turn, a shout came from over the top of the bank.

"Freeze! Put your hands in the air! Identify yourself!" called the officer from gunpoint. Clarice complied with the man's order.

"I'm Clarice Starling! FBI!" as she answered back, the boat was finally turned to reveal its empty inhabitants. Clarice felt her stomach drop at the sight of the empty vessel. The FBI agent, who had called down to her, walked down to her side.

"Agent Starling, are you alright?" he shouted over the thunderous sound of the helicopters.

"I think so!" she weakly shouted back. This, however would prove false as the agent helped Clarice back up to the rest of the FBI team and squad cars. About halfway up the bank, Clarice collapsed from a mixture of exhaustion, morphine, and shock.

Luckily, the man caught her before she fell back down the hill and into the lake. He then carried her up the rest of the way and placed her in the care of the ambulance's EMTs.

While in the back of the ambulance, Clarice faded in and out of consciousness. Her thoughts were scattered in the wind and soon there was nothing but total darkness.


	2. Emotionally Involved

Chapter 2

Emotionally Involved

Clarice awoke to the smell of disinfectant and bleach. She opened her eyes to see a dimly lit, plainly decorated room of a hospital. Her memory was very fuzzy as she took in more of her surroundings. She was lying slightly reclined with tubes of clear liquid flowed in and out of her arms, while light rhythmic puffs of pure oxygen continued into her nostrils. An annoying beeping sound notified her of the heart monitor to her left. Her eyes followed the chords of the machine until it reached the ends attached to her chest.

She was dressed in a hospital gown and had a blanket up to her belly button. She noted the typical scratchiness of its fabric against her exposed calve muscles. Her hair was down and felt matted to her scalp from where she had been sleeping. She examined more of the room. There was a window, but the blinds were closed. A chair sat in the corner, empty of any occupant. A table sat next to her bed. It was empty except for a standard King James Version of the Bible on display as in every hospital room. She looked down on the side bars of the bed and saw the nurse button.

Within seconds after pressing the button, a light knock came to the door. A young nurse with brown hair poked her head in the door to see Clarice sitting up on her bed. She turned back outside and said something inaudible. The door opened wider as Jack Crawford walked in with the nurse.

"What happened?" asked Clarice. The nurse checked the machines and Clarice's vitals then left before Crawford answered.

"Well, you've been unconscious for two days. After we…"

"TWO DAYS?" Clarice exclaimed. "I've been sleeping for two days?"

"Calm down, Starling," said Crawford as he placed a hand on her shoulder. "When we finally got to Paul's house, we found him dead and it's a miracle you were able to walk." His words began to bring back memories of the other night in Chesapeake. The smell of sautéed onions and mushrooms and the dress and the suit and the man in the suit and the man in the wheelchair.

"Lecter?' she almost whispered.

"Escaped before we arrived, lucky we showed up when we did though. You may have ended up like Paul." He said. "We did, however, find a high level of hypnotics and sedatives in your system."

"Yeah, I was shot at Verger's ranch and Lecter stitched me up." She explained as she caressed the small scar under her gown.

"Nonetheless, we had the doctors use a rape kit, just incase." He told her.

"What!" she asked in utter disgusted. "Dr. Lecter may be psychotic, but he would never do _that_." Clarice was far too angry to even consider masking her emotions. _How dare they think he would do such a thing! You'd think by now they would realize that he would think it vile and beneath him. Would he? _

"Very well, but it is better to be safe than sorry," said Crawford. "It came back negative, by the way."

"See," Clarice said like a child saying 'I told you so', but silently gave a sigh of relief.

"You have to understand our reasoning though, Starling. You were in his custody for nearly three days. When we found you dressed the way you were, we needed to be sure. Especially when we found out how many drugs you were on." He explained. "Not to mention the odd relationship the two of you have."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa! Relationship?" Clarice sputtered out. Crawford lifted an eyebrow.

"Yes, this never ending game of cat and mouse between the two of you. Don't pretend you don't know what I'm talking about, Starling. This is a dangerous twisted game he plays." Crawford moved closer to her bedside table. He looked down at the Bible that sat there then back to Clarice. "I think it would be wise not to get anymore involved than you already are."

"What are you saying?" Clarice asked. The pit of her stomach sank. This conversation was not going in the direction she wanted it to. Crawford cleared his throat.

"The media, as usual is having a field day with this… incident, and we feel that they may have a point."

"What are they saying?" asked Clarice as she raised a skeptical brow.

"They can't make heads or tails out of this mess, and as it turns out neither can we. Some people believe that you might be a bit too emotionally involved in this case."

"That's bullshi…"

"Starling, calm down," said Crawford.

"Cut to the chase, Mr. Crawford."

"What I'm trying to say is, you're going to have to remain on suspension, with pay, until the Bureau can sort some things out." His words cut Clarice like a knife.

"What kind of things?" she asked in a hard accent that only came out when she was angry.

"Between this whole Krendler mess, your involvement, and the media deal, not to mention Lecter's escape, we feel your time would be better served elsewhere." Clarice sat back in her bed in shock. Crawford swapped glances between Clarice's angry bewildered face to that of the face of his watch. "Look, Starling, take it easy. Think of it as a long vacation. Anyways, I got to get back to HQ, I'll send somebody this afternoon to drive you home."

Crawford gave a weak smile and left the small room and the crushed woman in it. Clarice closed her eyes tight and pulled her arms over her face for extra security. She wanted to scream in anger but knew better than to act childish. She was emotionally involved now. She knew the FBI would never completely trust her again after this fiasco. All she could do was take in a deep breath and release.

As promised, a man from the Bureau came to pick Clarice up around noon. Thanks to Ardelia, Clarice had some of her own clothes to change into instead of the dress that Lecter had given her. She sat in silence as they drove down the road to her home, which had no doubt been searched for any sign of the doctor.

"Hungry?" asked the man known as Agent Franklin. Clarice snapped out of her catatonic state at the sudden break in silence.

"Huh?" Agent Franklin chuckled a bit at her lack of attention.

"I asked if you were hungry. You haven't eaten real food in days, if I'm not mistaken." Agent Franklin was a medium height man in his late thirties. He had dark hair and was fairly attractive, not that Clarice would have noticed in her agitated state of mind. "I know a place that makes some good burgers."

"No, thank you. I just want to go home." She said, turning back to the window with a sigh.

"Alright then," said Franklin. They drove a while in silence until Franklin spoke again. "So is it true what they say in the papers?"

"I wouldn't know what they say. I've been in a coma for the past two days." Clarice said in disgust as to what this man was implying.

"Take it easy, I was just asking." He slowed as he pulled into the driveway. "Anyways, here we are. Need any help with your stuff?"

"No, no, I got it." She told him as she opened the door and grabbed her small sack of clothing. "Thanks for the ride, Agent Franklin."

"It was my pleasure." He said as she closed the door to the car and turned to walk up the small stoop of her house. She heard the car reverse out of the drive as she fumbled with her keys. She unlocked the door and entered into her dark home.


	3. Warm Welcome Home

**Ok this is a short chapter basically about Clarice wallowing in self-pity... Hope you enjoy! Please review :)**

Chapter 3

Warm Welcome Home

It seemed like an eternity since she had walked through that doorway, when in reality it had only been less than a week. Even though the sun shined outside, the interior of the house was like pitch. Not a light was on and all of the curtains were drawn across the windowpanes. She tossed the plastic bag of clothes on the hallway bench and walked to the kitchen, turning lights on as she went.

She looked around and noticed things were cleaner than she had left them. Obviously, the FBI had searched her house for clues about Lecter and his whereabouts. They probably had the whole house under surveillance and tapped the phones by now. She sighed as she walked into the kitchen and opened the fridge. A slight smile crossed her face as she saw the stack of food with a note from Ardelia hanging from one of the shelves.

"Hey Girl,

Glad you made it home in one piece. Ha-ha, here's some grub incase you get hungry. All you have to do is nuke it in the microwave and Ta-da! You have a decent meal! I'll come by tomorrow to check on you.

See you then,

Delia"

Clarice picked up the first box she saw and opened it. Fettuccini. She scooped the noodles onto a plate and placed it in the microwave. She hopped up on the counter and waited until she heard a high-pitched beep alerting her to her lunch.

She took her meal into the living room and sat on the couch reaching for the remote. The TV flipped on in a bright flash of light followed by a low mumble from the faces that formed there. She ignored it for the most part of her lunch until something caught her eye.

She nearly choked on her food as she looked up to see her face gracing the screen. Clarice fumbled around for the remote until she was able to turn the volume up to an audible height as the reporters widened her photo.

"FBI Agent Clarice Starling was just released from the hospital today after being in a drug induced coma for nearly two days. She had been missing since last week and was just discovered in a fellow agent's home in Chesapeake after a brutal attack by Hannibal the Cannibal Lecter. Agent Starling's colleague, Paul Krendler, was found dead inside his home, undeniably murdered by Lecter. What Agent Starling was doing there is as yet unclear, but it has been confirmed by hospital staff that she had been held under heavy sedation by Lecter. It has not been confirmed, however, whether or not Agent Starling was the victim of any sexual assault…."

Clarice turned off the TV and threw the closest thing, which happened to be a couch pillow, at the black screen. Though she had eaten the most of her lunch, Clarice could not bring herself to finish her plate. The sight of her life being portrayed in the media caused a sudden loss of appetite.

_Why does everyone think that? Lecter may be a madman, but he still acts like a gentleman. Whoa there, Clarice! Are you actually defending him? He's the cat and you're the mouse, do the math… Which one lives in the end?_

She scraped the leftovers into the trash and moved back to the couch. She lied down on the over stuffed cushions. Normally she would have gone out for a run, but her doctor had told her to take it easy while she recovered from de-tox. A rush of self-pity overwhelmed her and she could not stop the tears that ran down her face. She cried until sleep showed enough sympathy to allow her slumber.


	4. Remembering

**I just want to say a BIG THANK YOU for thos of you who have given reviews. I'm so glad you like the story so far!**

Chapter 4

Remembering

Her sleep lasted no longer than a couple of hours before she was awakened by a knock at the door. She got up slowly and groggily made her way to the front of the house. The knock came again, sharp and rapid. She could hear the erratic sound of a dozen voices outside. She stopped. Clarice knew exactly who was at her door. She moved to the side window and cracked the blinds.

There on her doorstep and in the street were over twenty different reporters from both the newspapers and the television stations. She noticed the unmistakable group of people from the National Tattler. She cringed as they all advanced onto her lawn like a plague.

Clarice turned away from the window and ran to her desk. She grabbed a pen and paper and wrote to the media. She simply stated that she would call the police if they did not vacate the premises and get off of her property. Clarice folded the note and slipped it under the front door.

By the agitated voices outside, she presumed they had gotten her message. It was only minutes later when she heard vans starting up and taking off down the street. Clarice was able to let a sigh of relief when she looked out the window again and the street was empty. She then looked at the clock to see it was 4:30.

"Come on, Starling," she told herself, "pull yourself together." She walked back into the living room, but did not dare turn on the TV again. She was tired of being made a spectacle for the world to see. If she walked outside, the news vans would whip right back around like moths to a flame. She would not only be watched by them, but by the FBI as well. She was a prisoner in her own home.

She decided the next best way to waste time was to take a long bath. Clarice walked up the stairs into her bedroom and retrieved her robe. She drew the hot bath water and poured various oils in it until it reached a warm floral scent, which filled the room in a pleasant veil.

She threw her clothes in the hamper and gently glided into the soothing waters. Though it was uncharacteristic of her, Clarice indulged her girly side by lighting candles in the bathroom and turned on some soft music. While the steam rolled off the face of the water, she let her mind wonder, trying to remember all that had happened.

_So I was shot at Verger's farm, and Lecter picked me up and saved me from the boars. He drove to Krendler's house and fixed my shoulder. I woke up in a dress, if you can call it that. I called the cops, and went downstairs._

She voluntarily skipped over the part with Lecter eating Krendler's brain.

_I went into the kitchen to hit him, but he caught my arm. He pushed me up against the fridge and caught my hair in it._

The next thoughts that floated into her memory were the root cause of her frustration.

_He kissed me… and I just stood there._

She recalled the taste he had left on her lips and the smell of his cologne, strong and musky. Then her thoughts went to those of her calling him by his first name.

_I did the right thing, right? I didn't kiss back. But wait… I wanted to… but why? He's a murderer, you just saw him kill Paul and you still wanted to kiss back?_

She refused to think on the subject anymore that night and finished up with her bath. By the time she was done, the water had already become lukewarm. Clarice pulled out a robe from the closet and sat on her bed. The clock face said 6:34 when her stomach began to growl. She dressed in a pair of sweatpants and one of the few non-FBI T-shirts she owned. She left her hair to dry by itself and headed down stairs for a bite of dinner.

She had enough courage to turn on the television once more while she ate. This time the news had not been on. Instead it was a re-run of a show she never had time to watch because of work. She had, for a moment, completely forgotten her problems as she allowed the TV to numb her mind to the world around her.

It was glorious hours of blissful unawareness, until the clock struck nine o'clock and the evening news came on. She was about to turn it off, when something stopped her.


	5. The Letter

**Thank you to all who read and review! I hope you like the story so far.**

Chapter 5

The Letter

A pair of eyes met hers through the glass screen of the television. She knew those eyes, their shape, their color. She had spent hours looking into them trying to divulge what lay behind them. She had peered into them at such proximity that most would never dare.

Hannibal's face was displayed on the monitor, but to Clarice, he may as well have been standing in the room. Just as she had when it had been her own face on the screen, Clarice turned up the volume to hear the story.

"…The FBI has no clue as to Lecter's current whereabouts. The last place he was known to have been was in the home of Justice Department official Paul Krendler and FBI agent Clarice Starling."

Clarice grimaced as hers and Paul's pictures were displayed side-by-side.

"…while Krendler was killed by Lecter, Agent Starling was spared. Some people have come to various theories as to why this might be. Seven years ago, Agent Starling was asked by the FBI to solicit information from Dr. Lecter during the Buffalo Bill investigation to create a criminal profile. During the investigation, Dr. Lecter was able to escape police custody in Memphis and has been at large since. A few people claim that Lecter may have spared Starling out of a mutual respect the two have for each other. While some think the Dr. Lecter and Agent Starling's relationship was completely platonic, others have gone so far as to accuse Agent Starling of being his lover and accomplice. As to this accusation, neither the FBI nor Agent Starling have confirmed or denied its truth…"

She could watch no more. So this is what the world thought of her? Dr. Lecter's lover? No doubt, this had been the story all of the reporters form this afternoon had come for. Then her mind drifted to Hannibal.

What was he doing now? Where was he? Does he know the kind of hell he has put her through? Realizing the path her thoughts were going down, Clarice decided to distract her mind another way.

She rose from the couch and walked to her meager collection of books on the shelf. None had been touched since the first time she had read them. She had a basic list of classics such as _Pride and Prejudice, Wuthering Heights, A Tale of Two Cities, The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, _and _Shakespeare's Sonnets_. Then there were a few psychology books such as _Civilization and Its Discontent_ by Freud and _Man's Search for Meaning_ by Frankl. There were a few murder mystery books, but no more than two.

However, while scanning over the book collection, she felt as though something was out of place. She disregarded the issue to the fact that the FBI had probably swept through her entire house with a toothbrush searching for evidence. She ran her finger across the short row of novels and back again. It was then she realized what was out of place. There was an extra book.

Hidden in the midst of her bookshelf was a copy of _Dante's Inferno_. Clarice had no recollection of reading it, let alone buying it. Her mind immediately went to Hannibal.

Clarice pulled the book off the shelf and quickly opened the hardcover. There was no note written in the inside cover of the book, so she hurriedly flipped through pages with one swift swipe. The pages halted in middle of the book, where a letter was used as a bookmark. She set the book down on the coffee table and took the letter into her hands.

The faint scent of his cologne clung to the paper as she tore open the elegant wax seal. Clarice could not stop the chill she had running up her spine from being reacquainted with that scent. She carefully removed the fine papered letter and opened to reveal its content.

"Dear Clarice,

I do not know whether you are familiar with Dante or not, but I thought it appropriate to leave my letter here in this particular book. In this book Dante describes the many circles of hell to which some will go to after death. Though you are not dead, Clarice, I imagine you believe you are in some sort of living hell at the present. Would I be wrong in assuming that? I thought not.

By discovering this letter, I take it that you are home from the hospital. I hope that I am finding you well, despite our last encounter. I am sorry about the coma you were subject to as a result to the sedatives. However, I think that the sleep did you some good, you have been working very hard in the past few weeks in spite of your suspension. And you look so peaceful when you sleep."

Clarice felt a knot form in her stomach at the thought of Dr. Lecter looming over her as she slept.

"I can only assume that you are still on suspension, thus confirming my warning that the FBI no longer trusts you. They would rather believe the scandalous rumors they hear from the Tattler than a word out of your mouth. Have you heard what they have been saying, Clarice Starling? Accomplices? Lovers? What would your dear small-town lawman daddy say if he were alive and heard such accusations?

Does it pain you to know that your father, and even the great Jack Crawford, are probably not only ashamed of you, but would gladly disown any affiliation with you if they could? Speaking of Ol' Jackie Boy, he was quite a busy bee while you were sleeping in the hospital, wasn't he? A rape kit? I doubt I have been more insulted in my life, it is as if dear Jackie does not know me at all. I would never stoop to such a level of disgrace. As I have told you before, the world is far more interesting with you in it, and allow me to add wholly unsoiled to that statement.

If I'm correct, at this moment, you are feeling a mixture of emotions involving frustration towards me from our last encounter and my escape, betrayal towards the FBI from their complete loss of faith in you and your abilities, and anger towards the media for prying into your life. How confused you must be, Clarice, to experience all of this at once. But as always, I have faith in you to carry on with your life as if nothing has happened despite the agonizing pain you hide inside.

Come now, Clarice, allow me to cheer you up. Since you have found some free time away from work, what do you say to a little game? You need something to keep you busy or you'll go mad. Remember, idle hands are the devil's workshop, or so they say. How about Hide and Seek? I am very good at hiding, as I am sure you know by now. Winner takes all, Clarice. What do you say?

Ta,

Hannibal Lecter, M.D.

PS- Let me now if you would like to play, Clarice. We could have some fun. Simply place an ad in the National Tattler under the name of Helen G. Chatler addressed to Matt Heser

- H"

**Just incase you did not catch that, Helen G. Chatler and Matt Heser are anagrams for "The Challenger" and "The Master"**

**I'll post the next chapter soon, but it may take a little bit for me to work some kinks out.**


	6. Riddles

**Thanks for being patient for this chapter guys. Hope you like! R&R Please :)**

Chapter 6

Riddles

Clarice was having trouble adapting to this new way of life. It had been two weeks since she had placed the ad in the National Tattler and nothing had happened. There had been no responding ad, no letters in the mail, no cryptic messages written in the sky, nothing. She was left waiting.

During this time, the press was barbaric in their thirst for a juicy story. It seemed like everyone in the world wanted to know what happened in those few days in Krendler's house. She was trapped. Ardelia even had trouble just coming to visit Clarice with the mob of reporters that stalked her. Even the FBI had lost visual a time or two when watching Clarice due to the frenzy of people wanting something to sell. Anytime she tried to leave her house, the paparazzi were there in minutes.

"Are you in league with Hannibal Lecter?" "Is it true you are carrying his child?" "Did you really assist in the murder of Paul Krendler?" "Agent Starling? Agent Starling? Clarice? Clarice?"

It was like the 'off' switch was broken on them. She couldn't go and get groceries without being hassled or getting strange looks from random people as she walked by. Even when she woke up at the crack of dawn to go jogging, there would be reporters waiting by her car or even running to catch up with her.

One incident in particular stuck out in her mind. A reporter from the oh-so-devoted-to-the-truth National Tattler had climbed in a window on the second floor of her house. She had been in the living room when she heard a 'thud' in her bedroom. Clarice did not hesitate in charging up to her room ready for a fight.

Needless to say, the reporter did not return for another interview. However, the next edition of the Tattler was increasingly vulgar whenever mentioning Clarice's name. After reading their demeaning article so named "Satan's Mistress", Clarice found herself cursing in such an unladylike fashion that her grandmother was probably turning in her grave. It even featured a picture of the man and claims that she used a baseball bat.

_What a sissy! Can't say you got the shit beat out of you by a girl so you gotta make it a bat? You've gotta be shittin' me!_

Clarice began to crumple up the paper, when she saw the ad section. She quickly soothed out the wrinkled page and scrolled down. Then she stopped.

"Helen G. Chatler,

Perhaps you should trace your roots. Look into the rabbit hole where the anthracite miner once dwelled. It is there you will find something useful.

-Matt Heser"

Like the letter, she read over it again and again until it seemed to completely absorb into every fiber of her being. She sat at her small kitchen table and thought as she blankly stared at the ad.

_God, I hate riddles. Anthracite miner? What is he talking about? Rabbit hole? Something useful IN the rabbit hole... but anthracite miner? This isn't Alice in Wonderland! You should have known better, Clarice._ Her conscious told her. _When you play his game you play by his rules._

Clarice sat and tried her hardest to decode this nonsensical script.

"Mining!" she suddenly shouted.

"… _but you're not more than one generation out of the mines, Officer Starling." _His voice echoed in her head. The very first time he had spoke to her, he knew she had come from a rural country town. Somewhere south in the Appalachians, somewhere people broke their backs in hard labor just trying to get by.

_That would go with 'trace your roots' but they didn't mine anthracite coal back home, it was bituminous coal. And how does 'rabbit hole' come in with that? It doesn't make sense… and why so specific? It wasn't just a coal miner, it said anthracite miner. Anthracite miner, anthracite miner, anthracite miner…. What does it mean?_

**Any thoughts as to what Dr. Lecter is trying to say? I'd love to hear your guess as to the riddle of his message...**


	7. The Miner

**Sorry for the wait, but here's the next chapter... please R&R**

**Chapter 7**

**The Miner**

It was like trying to catch smoke with your bear hands. This message may as well have been a vapor in the wind. Anytime Clarice felt like she was on to something, it was gone. Thanks to the internet, she was able to find out more about anthracite mines and where to find them.

While mining anthracite coal was rare in West Virginia, there were a number of mines in neighboring Pennsylvania. Was this the place she needed to go?

_Is there supposed to be another clue in the mine? Or is __**he**__ waiting in the mine? That doesn't sound like him, waiting in a dirty mine. Then again, he isn't the most predictable of criminals. Come on Clarice! Stop being the damn mouse!_

It wasn't until later research, that Clarice discovered the mines she found online were still operating. She knew better to assume he would go to a place where there were a lot of people. Nor did she expect a bunch of dirty miners to let a strange man go walking into the mines at his fancy.

Without anything else to go on, Clarice gave up and called it a night. The next morning, Ardelia came by with lunch. She and Clarice enjoyed a couple of burgers and fries in front of the TV set.

"So, you been out of the house much?" asked Ardelia in between bites.

"Well, I tried to get a run in about a week ago, but the reporters showed up before I got two blocks away." She took sip of her drink. "Not to mention, I've got the Men in Black across the street, watching me from their car."

"You mean Dumb and Dumber out there? Please, those two clowns couldn't read you your Miranda Rights if they had to." She snorted. Clarice raised a brow.

"What are you talking about?"

"They're trainees from the academy. Crawford thought it would be a better idea to have a few fresh minds on the case."

"I think he's tried that before," Clarice grimaced, "and look where it's led."

"Any idea where Lecter might be?" Ardelia asked after a long pause.

"Come on, now you're starting to turn into them," Clarice hissed as she held up a newspaper with another Lecter/Starling story on the cover. "How should I know where the hell he is?"

"Easy, no need to get all bent out of shape, I was just asking. Why so edgy?"

"I'm not edgy," Clarice mumbled as she pretended to be interested in the commercial about some product that claimed to make life easier for the small price of $19.99.

_If only $19.99 could make my shitty life easier._

Just then, a talk show came on with a well dressed woman in one of two over-stuffed chairs. In the other was a fairly familiar face. Clarice, then, stopped pretending and became consumed with the television. Ardelia saw the face too and stopped talking.

"After being out of the public eye for nearly ten years, when she had been taken captive by the madman known as Buffalo Bill, Catherine Martin has finally come out of the shadows. She made headlines this pasted week with the announcement of her new book telling the story of her time in captivity. In her book, _The Hole,_ she depicts the traumatic events that happened while trapped in Jame Gumb's house of carnage. It's a story of her survival, when all hope seemed lost. Tell us, Catherine, how did you survive?"

"Call it fate, call it luck, I have no idea why it was me," she said in her Tennessee twang. "Nothing in life can prepare you for that. You just have to trust your instincts and hope that you live to see tomorrow." She told the woman.

"Remarkable, and what was it like when rescue finally came at last?"

"When I heard that voice say 'FBI, you're safe. He's dead.' I don't think I believed it until I had rescuers trying to get me out of that hole."

"Well she wouldn't shut up long enough for me to actually tell her what was going on," said Clarice, more to herself than to Ardelia.

"And how do you feel now, knowing that the FBI agent who came to your rescue is under investigation for assisting Hannibal Lecter in his escape from Chesapeake?" The woman in the TV asked. Catherine's face stayed unchanged.

"I could care less. I am grateful to Clarice Starling for saving my life that day. I don't know how much longer I would've lasted in that hellhole if she hadn't." That's when it hit Clarice.

_Anthracite miner! It's not a literal mine! It's an anagram for Catherine Martin! And the Rabbit Hole! That stupid well in that creepy house! But would it still be there after all this time?_

Clarice had to stop herself from jumping up and running out the door. She had to get rid of Ardelia, but how? Clarice would have to be patient, and wait for her friend to leave before making her next big move.


	8. Ghosts

**Ok, this is the chapter leading up to a big moment in the story, Please R&R **

**Chapter 8**

**Ghosts**

As soon as Ardelia was out the door and down the road, Clarice ran upstairs and grabbed only the necessities. She snatched her purse and a small backpack full of items needed for an overnight stay. Not that she planned on staying that long, but she didn't know how long it would take to find Lecter's next clue. Within a little more than five hours, she would be in Belvedere, Ohio.

Clarice was forced to wait until the trainees, outside on duty, were too consumed in their radio's sports station before pulling out of her driveway and down the road. She sighed in relief as she pulled onto the interstate, without any sign of being followed.

The road was busy, full of people trying to get home to their lives. Clarice felt like the only one among the motorist, who was chasing anything to escape from her sad life. She wished so desperately that she could trade with anyone of them for their mediocre lives. A nice job that didn't involve chasing after dangerous criminals, a decent man at her side who didn't play maddening mind games, and maybe a couple of kids, but that dream was long gone. She pushed it out of her mind and returned to thinking about her mission now. All she could do was drive onward.

Though it had been nearly a decade since she had been in the decaying house of Jame Gumb, Clarice remembered every detail from the cobwebs in the doorway to the large moths flying around to the dirty half-starved girl at the bottom of a well. As she drove, she tried to remember the layout of the house, so she wouldn't have to stay there longer than necessary. And by eight o'clock that night, Clarice had made it to Belvedere.

She drove the long road to that scarred neighborhood, now branded "The Skinner Street." In the dusky sky, it was hard for her to determine which house had once belonged to the demented Buffalo Bill. It wasn't until she noticed an old, broken, and spray-painted "FOR SALE" sign in the front yard, that she finally found it. She muffled a dark humored laugh.

The house was clearly abandoned, probably ever since Gumb had died.

_Well, who would want to buy a house where women were killed and skinned into a woman suit by a psychopath?_ _Ok, let's get this over with._

Before walking up to the house, Clarice grabbed the flashlight she'd pack and opened the passenger side compartment to retrieve one of the guns the FBI had neglected to confiscate. She walked up the creaking front steps of the house. The door had indentions, where it had been kicked in, probably by looters. The glass was broken, also. She carefully opened the door and shined the bright light into the perpetual darkness.

Her stomach tightened and the hair on the back of her neck stood on end. She felt like a trainee again. A scared, inexperienced trainee trapped in the house of a madman. She had forgotten how frightening this place had been. No matter how hard she tried to convince herself other wise, she felt as though she wasn't alone. There were too many ghosts in this house of horrors. The peeling wallpaper looked like some wild beast had slashed his claws through them. Trash and broken furniture lay scattered on the floor as she walked through the rooms, until she came upon the door leading to the basement and the well.

She took a deep breath before proceeding down the dark staircase into the plunging black. The flashlight was steady all the while going down the staircase, but when she reached the last step, the light began to shake ever so slightly. Her paranoia was growing by the second. It was like she could hear the ghosts breathing, whispering, down here.

_Get a hold of yourself, girl! This house is empty! Empty, empty, empty! And if it isn't, you've got a fucking gun! Come on, Clarice!_

At this mental pep-talk, Clarice wondered around until she could find the hole. A wooden panel had been used to cover the top of the well. Reluctantly, Clarice holstered her weapon and propped her flashlight nearby, so she could see to remove the heavy panel. She hoped more than anything that she didn't have to go into the hole to retrieve the doctor's clue.

It only took a couple of tries before the panel was completely off of the dark pit. Clarice could not help but picture the woman she had seen the first time she looked down into it. A fowl stench of decay and death arose from its depths. She reached back for her flashlight and shined it into the deep blackness. There was nothing. Nothing but emptiness. She let out a defeated sigh at the vacant hole. It appeared to be a dead end for Clarice.

However, fate, if you believe in such a thing, has a funny way of surprising you when you least expect it.

"Helloooo, Clarice."

**Hope you liked it! The next chapters may take me a while because I MUST get them perfect. So please bear with me in the days to come...**


	9. The Doctor in Darkness

**Here it is! Ch. 9! And this is only the begining! Please R&R**

**Chapter 9**

**The Doctor in Darkness**

The voice made Clarice nearly jump out of her skin. The flashlight fell out of her hand and into the deep dark abyss of the hole, only to break once it hit bottom. She was left in darkness, with only a menacingly amused laugh to fill the air. Her eyes search frantically for the source of the voice, but they were not accustomed to the blinding darkness. It was just like her last time in this basement, only this time her predator was far more cunning and dangerous than Jame Gumb.

"Doctor?" she asked in a quivering voice as she pulled out her gun, aiming it into nothingness. "Dr. Lecter?"

"Now, now, Clarice, put the gun away." His voice echoed off the walls. It came from every direction.

"How did you know I…"

"You see, unlike little Billy, I don't need night vision goggles to see you, Clarice. I can see you very clearly. And may I note how lovely you look when you're frightened."

"Who said I was scared, Doc?" she feigned bravery.

"Then why are you breaking out into a cold sweat, Clarice?" she knew he could smell it.

"You're not exactly playing fair, Doctor." She answered a little stronger.

"Who's the one with the gun, here, Clarice?"

"Well, how am I supposed to know if you're armed or not?" she asked.

"You could always 'pat me down', Ex-agent Starling." He said in a mocking tone.

"What are you doing here, Doctor Lecter?"

"To see you, of course. Our last encounter didn't exactly end on a good note."

"I thought the point of hide and seek was for me to find you," she blinked a few more times and her eyes began to make out vague shapes, all of which were motionless.

"By the way you're aiming that cheap piece of metal, I'd say I'm still very well hidden." His voice came from behind. Clarice turned around wildly, aiming at where the voice seemed to generate. "Guess again, Clarice. You'll have to do better than that."

She took a few steps forward. While one hand stayed ready to fire, the other searched around to find a wall, a door, or something else to get her away from this place. It did not take long for an escape to present itself: she found the stairs.

"Leaving so soon?" he asked as she slowly climbed. She ignored him and tried to continue, but tripped and slid down a few steps. "Careful now, Clarice," his voice said.

"Shut up!" she groaned as she tried to correct her climbing strategy.

"You're bleeding." He said in a deep hungry voice. Clarice reached down to feel the arm she fell on. Sure enough, there was a slight gash and the familiar warm stickiness on her finger tips. He could smell it like a shark, and it's scent filled his nostrils. She turned back down the stairs and pointed her gun in the direction of the voice.

"I'm not here to harm you, my dear."

"Then why are you here?"

"We have some unfinished business to attend to." He said. "And you agreed to enter my little game." He reminded her. There was a beat of silence. "Why did you say 'yes', Clarice?"

"I…I don't know." She told him.

"Now, now, now, we both know that's not the reason." Clarice ignored him and began climbing the stairs again. She reached the upper floor of the house, where the moon and streetlights shone through the windows. It was dark, but not as blindingly so as the basement. Clarice could here him walking up the stairs.

"Come out, with your hands up, Doctor." She said in her federal agent voice. Surprisingly, Hannibal came up doing just that.

"I do hope Agent Crawford is paying you overtime for this." His white teeth gleamed in the moonlight. "You've successfully captured one of the FBI's Most Wanted."

"We both know that's not true. It would take more than me to capture Hannibal Lecter."

"You flatter me, Agent Starling. Are you this charming to the others you've put behind bars?"

"Shh! Just stop talking! Please!"

"Well, since you said, 'please'." And Hannibal was silent as she thought.

_What am I supposed to do now? Think, girl, think! I can't exactly drive him to HQ without backup, and I can't call for backup since I'm technically not an agent anymore. But if I did manage to get him back in custody, he'd get the needle for sure._

Her heart began to sink at the thought of Hannibal being injected with the poison. She felt something like dread and sadness.

_ Wait! Why should I care? He's a criminal! A Cannibal!_ She told herself. _So why do I care what happens to him?_

While lost in thought, Clarice suddenly realized that she could see him more clearly in the dim light. He looked exactly as he always had, simply debonair. His mesmerizing eyes glinted in the moonlight. He was wearing black pants, black shirt button up shirt, and a black sports coat, all perfectly tailored and expensive. He was the only elegant thing in this destroyed house.

"What are you going to do with me now, Clarice?" he asked with a smirk.

**Hope you liked it :) I'm going to be forced not to write for a little while because I'm taking a little European vaction and don't really feel like keeping up with my laptop. Perhaps while there, I shall get a bit of inspiration while I'm there as to what lies in store for Hannibal and Clarice...**


	10. Loyalties

**Hello again my dear readers! I'm back and had a WONDERFUL trip to Paris and Barcelona! The cities, enviroment, and culture have sent me into a writing frenzy! So more chapters coming soon! Please R&R **

**Chapter 10**

**Loyalties**

"What are you going to do with me now, Clarice?" he asked with a smirk. She didn't answer. "Think quickly, Clarice. How long do you think it will take those trainee buffoons to realize you are gone?"

"Crawford wouldn't have taken them from the academy if they didn't show potential." She said. Hannibal clicked with his tongue.

"Still loyal to those who despise you. I commend your devotion, but even a dog can be dedicated to a man who does not care for it in return." He replied.

"What are you talking about, Dr. Lecter?" she asked, raising her gun a little higher as he slowly advanced. He stopped a few feet away.

"They don't trust you anymore, Clarice, surely you can see that. They haven't been completely honest with you." Damn it, she knew he was right.

"How would you know?"

"Quid pro quo, Clarice. I tell you things, you tell me things." Clarice rolled her eyes and sighed.

"What is it with you and this game?"

"You fascinate me, always doing the unexpected." He mused. "Like rescuing me from the Muskrat Farm and agreeing to my little 'hide and seek' after all that you've been through." He told her. Clarice suppressed a shutter at the thought of fascinating someone as genius and dangerous as Dr. Hannibal Lecter. "So, quid pro quo, yes or no?"

"Fine, go," she moaned. Lecter smiled.

"Why did you say 'yes' to my game, Clarice?"

"Because I wanted to find you."

"And why would you want to do that?" he asked mockingly. "Was it to gain back your badge?"

"No,"

"Was it to put me back in my cage?"

"They wouldn't cage you," she began, but stopped herself short.

"Ah, they would kill me?" he asked in a dangerous tone.

"Yes," she answered as she began to unknowingly lower her gun.

"Than tell me, Clarice, does that bother you?" The mocking tone continued as she remained silent. He was reading her. "It does, doesn't it, Agent Starling. And you loath yourself for it." His words cut through her shield. She did loath herself for not hating him like she knew she ought to. "Am I a monster, Clarice?"

"You tell me, Doc." She said firmly. There was a couple of seconds silence between them and Hannibal smiled his terrible grin.

"They stopped trusting you, so they put a tracking device behind the rear wheels of your car. For some odd reason, they thought you could lead them to me. Imagine that," he grinned. "They also had an agent peek into you house at night while you slept." He told her. Clarice felt betrayed enough already by the FBI, but even more by the thought of someone watching her at night. "I believe his name was Agent Franklin."

"Was his name? What did you do to him?" Clarice already knew.

"What I do best, Clarice." He said darkly. She stood there in silence, trying to search for any emotion at all. Anger? No. Fear? No. Hatred? No. She felt nothing on behalf of Hannibal's latest victim. But something in her felt a need to know about Agent Franklin's death.

"Why?" was all she asked.

"Every man has a weakness." He said firmly. "His just happened to be entering into a lady's house while she slept. And Lord only knows what devilish things he had on his mind, Clarice. Luckily, I happened to be in the neighborhood and stopped him before any harm could be done." There was another beat of silence between the two. "You're welcome."

"You say every man has a weakness. Enlighten me, Doctor, as to your weakness?" she asked not expecting an answer, hoping it may shut him up.

"I would have thought it was obvious, Clarice."

**Hope you enjoyed! More chapters to come, and I promise the story is about to take off in the fast lane very soon :D**


	11. Together

**Hello again, dear readers! I give to you a new chapter in hopes that you enjoy my little journey with Dr. Lecter and Clarice. Please remember to R&R**

**Chapter 11**

**Together**

"Me?" She asked in disbelief. "But why?" Hannibal walked closer to her, but this time the gun remained at Clarice's side.

"Haven't you ever wondered, Clarice, why I spoke to you that first day in Baltimore? Why I never came to you after my escape? Why I saved you at Mason Verger's? Why I didn't kill you when I had the chance?" He demanded. "Has it even crossed your mind?"

"I don't know!" She shouted. "Why don't you just save us time and tell me!" Hannibal sighed and looked down and then to Clarice.

"Because, Clarice, you saw me for what I truly am." He stopped only inches from where she stood. Clarice was not afraid, not anymore. "Not a monster like the world seems to believe I am."

"What then?" she whispered as his face lay directly in front of her.

"A man," he said as his breath caressed her lips, which he then claimed with a kiss. Every bond that Clarice had ever tied with the FBI was broken when she returned Hannibal's kiss.

Clarice laid the gun on a nearby table, forgotten, as arms wrapped around torsos and his ventured into her auburn hair. Hannibal cupped her face in his hand as their kiss deepened and he began biting her lip. One bite was a bit too eager and drew blood from her lower lip, but Clarice paid it no mind as her buried passion rose from the depths.

But a familiar sound of sirens broke them apart. Though distant, the danger was growing near, and Clarice looked to the man before her.

"Come with me?" He asked holding out a hand to her. Without a second thought, she took it and he began leading her to the back of the house. They walked out into the dark Ohio night with blue and red lights swirling in the distant sky. Hannibal led her through the jungle of weeds which was once a backyard and passed the old renovated houses to the street. Hand in hand they ran towards a black car parked under a broken streetlamp. She couldn't tell in their rush what kind of car it was. An Infinity? Or maybe a Camry? Not Hannibal's first choice for get away cars, but it didn't really matter as long as it could put a hundred miles distance between them and the pursuing police cars.

"Where are we going?" She asked once seated in the passenger side.

"South, until we're out of the States. How's your Spanish?" he said with a calm that seemed unaltered by the obvious jeopardy they were in.

"Alright I guess, but how are we getting in without passports?"

"Clarice, this isn't my first run around the track, I know what I'm doing." He smiled. "I had two made in advance. One for you and one for me." He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out two navy blue U.S. issued passports as he started the car. Clarice opened them to reveal a bearded, hazel eyed, and crooked nosed Dr. Artimas Horsh and blonde haired, blue eyed Ms. Maria Shroths. It was hers and Hannibal's faces, but the strange features altered them into new people. She marveled at her new identity as Hannibal drove at a steady pace down the road away from the sirens. She also found two plane tickets from Mexico City's MEX airport to Paris de Gaulle airport dated for two days from now.

"France?"

"Yes, I thought we could lay low in style." He smiled.

_When have you done anything NOT in style?_ Clarice smiled to herself.

"I bought the tickets separately so that the FBI can't look up a manifest of tickets bought together by a man and woman fitting our descriptions." He explained. "Not that we will look like ourselves?"

"I can see that." she said holding up the passports.

"I have the hair dye in the backseat in a suitcase with the colored contacts."

"What about you? How are you going to pull this look off?" she said holding up Dr. Horsh's passport.

"A fake beard and a false nose, of course. Simple theatre make-up is all. Like I said, this isn't my first time around, my dear." He smirked as he took her hand and kissed it.

Hannibal and Clarice drove on into the unknown, together.

::.

:.

.

.:

.::

**I'm sure it's a real shock that they should be going to France, but like I said, I went looking for inspiration and I found it! The fun is only begining :)**

**Plus 10 LecterPoints for whoever can tell me the anagrams in this chapter. There are 2, and they lead to the same conclusion. Yay puzzels!**


	12. Rest Stop

**Hello dear readers! It's been a while, but allow me to make amens for my absence with another chapter of our little journey with the dear doctor and his lady love. I'm still waiting on who ever can unscrabble the two anagrams in the previous chapter... here is a clue: Artimas Horsh and Maria Shroths are the items to be solved and they lead to the same conclusion... Come now 20 LecterPoints are on the line here! R&R**

**Chapter 12**

**Rest Stop**

"Evenin' Senor and Senorita, welcome to the Rio Grande Hotel," said the overweight cowboy on the other side of the motel counter. Though it was after mid-night, the cowboy seemed wide awake.

"Howdy, me and my daughter will be needin' two rooms for the night, but if ya could jus' make 'em right next to each other, that'd be great." Clarice had to contain herself from laughing at Hannibal's country accent.

"Well I can give ya better than that," said the cowboy turning to get two sets of keys off the wall, "Conjoined rooms!" he smiled, winking at Clarice.

"Thank ya kindly, how much do I owe ya for the one night?" Hannibal said digging out his wallet out of the blue jeans he had changed into at a gas station pit stop in Oklahoma.

He now donned jeans and a checkered button up shirt with work boots. Clarice also had changed into a pair of ripped up jeans, a tank top, and blue jean jacket.

"That'll be $60 for the two rooms," looking back at Clarice with a tobacco stained grin, "I gave ya a discount." She ignored his smile and looked to Hannibal.

"I'll go get the bags, you go on to the room." He handed her the keys and walked out. Clarice began walking to the door, when a hand tapped her shoulder.

"Let me show ya to your rooms." He opened the door for Clarice and then led her across the dusty lot towards a paint chipped door.

"Thank you," she said as she tried to unlock the door and retreat into the room. The cowboy quickly put his arm in the doorframe and foiled her attempt.

"That ain't really your daddy, now is it? Eh sweet cheeks? Don't worry, these walls are pretty thick." he leaned in closer, "So how much he payin' to ride the buckin' bronco? Bet ya I could double it."

"I don't know what the hell you're talkin' about. And I don't remember asking you to butt your nose in my business." She hissed.

"You whores all think your some hot shit don't ya?" he smirked as he slapped her buttocks.

"Listen here you son of a bitch, slap my ass again and I'll rip your hands off. Now get out of my way." Clarice almost growled with anger as the cowboys face flared up with rage.

"Is there something the matter here?" Hannibal asked from a few feet away. The cowboy backed away and smiled.

"None at all, just showing the little lady to her room." Clarice snatched her small bag and slammed the door behind her while Hannibal sat their bags in front of his own door and turned to the cowboy.

"Thank you kindly," he smiled offering his hand to the cowboy. He shook hands but then winced in pain as Hannibal's hand tightly gripped his own like a python. Hannibal cut his eyes and pulled the cowboy by the shirt collar. "Did you know that in some countries, the penalty for such behavior to a lady is death?"

"What the hell!" said the cowboy, not even noticing the change in Hannibal's elegant speech. Before the cowboy could say anything, a sharp pain came to his abdomen.

"That was very rude of you," said Hannibal as he released him and the cowboy staggered backwards holding his bloody shirt. His kidney had been lacerated. He fell back on the ground as he struggled to escape from Hannibal's advance.

"You crazy old fuck!" yelled the cowboy as Hannibal knelt down beside him.

"You know what, I think I'll save my friend the trouble and take off your hands myself." Hannibal smiled his terrible smile as the cowboy began to cry. "Don't worry, I'm a doctor."

**Hope you liked this little stip-bit, R&R please.**


	13. Almost Free

**Hello again dear readers! I would just like to congratulate VikingLover86 for solving the anagrams: Maria Shroths and Artimas Horsh! Yes, they were indeed Thomas Harris! Well done! Anyways, here's a new chapter, hope you like it. Plz R&R**

**Chapter 13**

**Almost Free**

Dr. Horsh and Maria Shroths arrived at the MEX airport precisely at 6 o'clock AM. They walked to the counter and checked their small luggage separately, then individually made their way through security. The two seamlessly made it through the security check points and in their own sweet time made their way to their gate. Dr. Horsh sat down first, and Ms. Shroths took the seat next to him.

"The hard part is over," Hannibal told Clarice as he took her hand. She smiled, but her attention was pulled away by the overhanging TV. Though the report was in Spanish, Clarice needed no translator to understand that the story was once again about her and Hannibal. Their old faces graced the screen, along with a video feed of her car parked in front of Jame Gumb's house.

"Is it?" she asked glancing between Hannibal and the TV. New pictures had been added of the Rio Grande Hotel in Texas along with a picture of the cowboy. Clarice's eyes widened behind her costume glasses. "Is that why we left so early?"

"Yes, that and those lodging were atrocious." He smiled, but Clarice frowned. He placed a hand on her cheek. "Clarice, do you trust me?" he said in a hushed tone, not that the other people scattered at the gate would have paid attention to them otherwise.

"Yes," she answered. Hannibal smiled at her, not a mocking smile, but a sincere and loving smile.

"Then know, I will never do anything to put you in anymore danger than we already are in." He leaned in to kiss her, but she pulled away. He raised a brow.

"I'm going to need you to lose the beard first." She teased and he could not help but laugh.

"As soon as we land in Paris, my dear," He chuckled as she laid her head on his shoulder, and the two of them waited patiently for their flight.

They bored only an hour later and were seated beside each other in coach. Not Hannibal's preference, but it was necessary to blend in now. They had this row to themselves. Clarice could not help but to look around to see if she recognized anyone. Her eyes grew wide as she noticed a man coming on board.

"I see him," said Hannibal as Clarice sank far into her seat. The FBI agent flashing his badge to the flight attendants, Clarice had met maybe ten times in her career as a Federal Agent. His name was Agent Thompson, Mark Thompson, or maybe it was Mike?

The few times Clarice had seen him was whenever the Justice Department was budding in on one of the FBI's investigations. She knew in her gut that he was one of Krendler's go-to guys, and therefore a BIG threat to her and Hannibal right now. No doubt after the discovery at the Rio Grande Motel, everyone must have spread to every possible escape route her and Hannibal may have taken.

Clarice could not deny that their disguises were excellent, but if Thompson was one of Krendler's cronies, you couldn't be too careful. She couldn't hear what he was talking to the flight crew about, but she had an idea of his business as he began walking up the aisle ways and looking into each individual's passports.

"Relax," said Hannibal. He patted her hand as Agent Thompson checked the row in front of them. Clarice took a deep breath and did exactly as she was told. She sat up and reached for the plane's safety instruction pamphlet and pretended to read it.

"May I see your passports?" asked Thompson in an unfriendly manner. Hannibal handed his to the man and Clarice followed suit. Agent Thompson examined both of them. "And why are two American citizens leaving for Paris, from Mexico?"

"Health seminars, I'm lecturing around the world about the different vaccinations requirements between the US and other countries." Hannibal explained without so much as a shadow of a doubt. He even pulled out a brochure from his briefcase to show him. Sure enough, Dr. Horsh was giving lectures around the world about vaccination requirements. Clarice's stomach ached as she thought of the possible fate of the real Dr. Horsh.

"Uh huh, and what about her?" he said nodding towards Clarice.

"My personal secretary, Ms. Shroths. Shamefully, I'm not much of an organizer. Scatterbrained," He lied with a closed mouth smile. Thompson looked between the two, paying direct attention to their eye color. However, they were no longer Clarice's pale eyes or Dr. Lecter's piercing red pupils.

"Very well," he said to them and handed back their passports and continued down the other rows of people. Clarice sank in her seat and gave a quiet sigh. Lecter took her hand again, but released when Thompson came back down the aisle. Clarice held her breathe as Thompson spoke with the flight attendants again. She strained to hear them, but in vain. Her only relief came when she saw Agent Thompson exit the plane.


	14. Existing

**A thousand apologies to you my reader for the lateness in this chapters posting. I do hope you have been patient with me and can only continue to beg forgiveness. So here it is, hot off the press! R&R please!**

**Existing**

The city streets were filled with a hodgepodge of people bustling and hustling to their desired destinations. Locals were calling cabs, walking, or heading down to the Metro. Tourists would attempt call cabs in broken French or walk while taking snapshots of anything and everything they could possibly capture on their cameras. The locals often laughed at the tourists as a gypsy would walk by and snatch the their wallets unnoticed in the busy Parisian streets.

Clarice Starling, however, fit into none of these groups. She was not as savvy as the locals, nor was she as oblivious as the tourists. Needless to say she was not a gypsy. She was simply there. Existing.

Her tourist status slowly began to vanish after her first three weeks in Paris. She began to grow familiar with it and its ways. Hannibal had been a very good teacher when it came to learning French and in the art of hiding in plain sight. They were no longer Clarice Starling and Hannibal Lecter, nor Maria Shroths and Dr. Horsh. They were Albert Williams and his wife Joanna. Albert was a historian and antique appraiser for museums and private collectors. His expertise was even sought by the Louvre on more than one occasion. Joanna was the bookkeeper at Albert's office and worked as his personal assistant, naturally, who would know him better?

Clarice had boarded the Metro at Saint-Lazare, near their office on Rue Saint-Lazare and gotten off at Cité. She stood next to the doors and had a firm grip on her Prada bag. When she emerged from the underground, she was greeted by fresh air to cleanse her nostrils of the urine-scented station. She strolled down the tourists crowded streets as she enjoined the many smells of Paris in autumn. The numerous aromas of food in the nearby restaurants mixed with scent of women drenched in their new French perfumes.

She looked down at her watch, twelve-noon. There was only one place to find Hannibal at this hour. The tolling of Emmanuel from the bell tower of Notre Dame rang throughout the Île de la Cité as Clarice walked through the giant doors of the grand cathedral. She looked over the heads of the many tourist and tour guides to see Dr. Williams staring at the statue of the Virgin Mary. Most people would think in praying, but Clarice knew the look in his eye, he was thinking.

For some reason, Clarice did not know, Hannibal had made it a habit to escape to Notre Dame after meeting with private collectors. She figured he did it to gain solitude from his clients, but was unsure how he did so in such a crowded place.

He wasn't hard to find, he was the only one wearing all black. His suits were always of fine quality and cut. She saw that he held in his hand his favorite white fedora. Clarice made her way to him through the crowd, but stood back, not wanting to disturb his train of thought.

"Did you know that during the French Revolution the Virgin Mary was replaced with a statue of Lady Liberty?" He asked without turning to look at Clarice behind him. She smiled and walked up beside him.

"No, did she tell you that?" she grinned. Hannibal smiled and turned to her, placing a gentle kiss on her lips.

"As much as I would like to make claim to a divine revelation," he smirked, "A know-it-all tour guide just passed by spouting out this and that."

"How did your appointment go?" she asked as he offered her his arm.

"It was a fake, anyone could've told him so," he told her as they walked back towards the exit. "The fool thought he had bought an original Delacroix self portrait. A complete waste of my time! The chances of procuring one of those are slim to none! What was that imbecilic cretin thinking?" He ranted.

"Now, now, not everyone can be an expert," she calmed him.

"This is why I dislike most private collectors, at least with museums there is a glimmer of professionalism." He declared as he placed his fedora on his head once outside the church doors.

"Well, it's all over now," she reminded him. "What are you hungry for?"

"Imbecilic cretin."

"Hmm, from what you said, he doesn't sound too tasty," Clarice played it off. She did not like to admit that Hannibal's darker humor bothered her at times when she knew he wasn't joking. "Perhaps, we could go to the Le Meurice? We haven't been there in a while, and you do love their wine selection…" she tempted him with another smile.

"Well, when you put it like that," he kissed her again. "Le Meurice it is!"

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**I do hope you enjoyed this snippet of the story, I shall try very hard to post again soon, it won't taken months this time, I promise!**


	15. The List

**Alright so it turns out I lied about not taking months to post the next chapter and I am so sorry! I blame life in general. My brain is running on empty between school, work, this story, and other stories I'm working on. I can only hope that you will be patient with me. Without further groveling, I present chapter 15!**

**Chapter 15**

The List

Strolling the streets of Paris at night was a favorite pastime for both Hannibal and Clarice. Their lunch at Le Meurice was enough to sooth Hannibal's ranting about his frustrating appointment. They had spent the remainder of the afternoon perusing through shops and bookstores. And now, walking arm in arm along the Seine, they were lost in blissful quiet. Hannibal was the only person Clarice knew, who could be content in silence.

"What do you say to staying in for dinner tonight?" Hannibal asked, breaking the quiet. Clarice looked up from her own musing.

"Sounds good to me. Are you cooking?"

"Naturally, but I just remembered that I need to pick up some groceries." He said as they were a few minutes away from their home.

"Need any help?"

"No, my dear, I believe I can manage. I made a list," he trailed off as he searched his pockets. With a sigh he said, "I left it on my desk at the office. I'll run by and get it before I stopped at the store."

"How long will that take?" Clarice asked as she took out her key and unlocked the door.

"An hour maybe a little more, depending on what's on the list. Why don't you take a nice long bath and I'll be back and have dinner on the store before you know it." He told her. She leaned close and placed a playful kiss on his lips.

"Alright, as long as you let me worry about dessert." She said with a wicked smile. Hannibal laughed.

"I look forward to it, my dear," he smiled as she went into the house.

Clarice ascended the staircase to the master bedroom. As she began running her bath water, she took off her jewelry and put it away in its proper place. Clarice turned on the stereo, not caring to see what was in the CD player. As the soft jazz music came on, she deemed it relaxing enough. She walked over to the closet and placed her shoes of the rack. She took her silk robe off of the hanger and laid it over a chair to wait until her bath was done. She pulled her long auburn hair up into a bun and tossed her clothes into the laundry bin. She walked back to the bathtub and looked in the basket beside it and saw the expensive bath salt Hannibal had bought her.

"Ah, what the hell?" she shrugged as she poured some of it into the hot water.

Meanwhile, just outside of their home, Hannibal pulled out his cellphone.

"Hello, Monsieur Lamont, this is Dr. Williams. We met this morning about your Delacroix self-portrait."

"Yes, you told me it was a fake." Lamont huffed.

"Indeed, I was wondering if I could have another look at it? I did a little digging and may have reason to believe that it is genuine."

"Oh," Lamont cooed. "You were mistaken Monsieur Appraiser? I thought that you were 'positive it was a cheap replica'?"

"I apologize, sometimes it needs a second look to tell." Hannibal said coolly.

"I am glad that you have come to your senses. I knew it was genuine!" he continued in this fashion for several minutes. Lamont's boasting was beginning to grow rude.

"I wonder, is there anyway that I could perhaps see it tonight?" Hannibal asked, awaiting the answer he already knew was coming. "Oh, excellent! I can be there in ten minutes." With a click, he hung up the phone with a sly grin and made his way down the street. He reached in his pant pocket and pulled out the grocery list he claimed was at his office. "Congratulations Monsieur Lamont, you've just made the list."

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**I hope you liked this little snippet! Let me know what you thought!**


	16. Trouble in Paradise

**I've had a sever case of writers block and I can only hope that it is over as I present Chapter 16!**

Trouble in Paradise

It had been only an hour since Hannibal had set out on his errand, and when he returned he was in for an almost surprise. Clarice was sitting in an armchair with her legs and arms crossed. Her hair was dry and pulled pack in a ponytail. She wore dark jeans and one of the blouses he had bought her from Prada. It's dark color contrasted beautifully with her fair features. Despite his appraisal of her, her attitude and facial expression were unmistakable. He knew she had figured out his scheme, which he was amazed took her this long to put together.

"Hello, my dear. Did you have a nice bath?" He said, ignoring her scowl as he made his way to the kitchen.

"It was, until I remembered something," she answered as calmly as she could.

"Oh, and what was that?" He asked as he set the grocery bags down.

"You would never forget something as trivial as a grocery list. To hell with that, you don't even need one!" Her attempt at calm had utterly failed. "I thought we talked about this," she almost hissed. Hannibal could not help but smirk at her tone. He heard her rise from the living room and walk up behind him.

"If I recall correctly, we did discuss it, but came to no agreeable conclusion." He told her as he empty the bags and a little something extra that cannot be bought at grocery stores.

"You said…" but she trailed off as she caught sight of bits and pieces of Mr. Lamont on the kitchen counter.

"I said," he continued for her, "That you had nothing to worry about, which is true. I have been as discreet as ever." He began to prepare for dinner. Clarice was livid in her expressions.

"We said that if we were going to be together and be a family, that you wouldn't…"

"I never agreed to that arrangement." He reminded her. "I told you that I would not stop being who I am."

"I don't want you to stop being you! I want you to stop," she quieted her yelling, "murdering people!"

"What does it matter if the world loses a parasite from its face?" He asked, growing a bit annoyed with this conversation that would not die.

"How can you do this, when you know how I feel about it?" She cried when he refused to turn around to speak to her.

"Because it is as much a part of me as the air in my lungs! As the blood in my veins!" he hissed. Clarice bit her tongue, not wanting to say what she was thinking. "You're a big girl. You knew what you were getting into." His condescending words pushed her to release her tongue from her clenching teeth. She had no other choice than to play her wild card.

"I'm pregnant!" she shouted.

"Ah, I wondered when you were going to tell me. I must say, I'm a little disappointed that it was during a fight and not on happier terms." He said as he finally turned around to look at her. The shocked look on her face was priceless.

"You knew?" She asked in disbelief. Hannibal merely crossed his arms and raised his brow. Did she really think she could keep anything secret from him? Clarice composed herself before speaking again. "Do you really want to raise a baby like this?" she motioned to Mr. Lamont.

"I think it would be rather intriguing to see how a child develops after being raised by an Ex-FBI agent and a murder." He smirked.

"Are you kidding me?" she shouted louder. Hannibal merely held up a hand.

"Now, now, you don't want to upset yourself. Stress isn't good for the baby." He said in a voice that was both patronizing and concerned at the same time. Clarice had had enough.

"I'm going for a walk, you're pissing me off too much." She said as she grabbed her coat and slammed the door behind her. The air was not exactly the freshest, but it was far more welcome that the hostility in the house. She subconsciously turned down the street as she ranted in her mind.

_What was I thinking? Of course he would know about the baby! And still STILL he would just go on killing people when they pissed him off? It was a wonder he hasn't tried to strangle me in my sleep! _

She turned down a side street, not really caring where she was going. She didn't realize that her hands rested on the slight bulge of her stomach.

_If I killed everyone that pissed me off, there would be a significant population decrease! Even then, I wouldn't bring it home and plop in on the counter!_

She thought as she remembered the slivers of meat cut from what she assumed was the imbecilic cretin. The thought was enough to bring her nausea. She tried to be strong but her stomach threatened to spew, and she darted into an alleyway. Once concealed from the view of any spectator, she fought back the urge to vomit. She inhaled and exhaled and repeated until she felt that she was once again in control. One hand clutched to her knee and the other on the alley wall, she became composed once again. When she stood, she turned back down the alley to return to the main street.

However, a rough hand grabbed her arm and pulled her back into the darkness. She felt the cold sting of a blade on her neck and smelled the unsettling stench of strong alcohol. An unwelcome arm trapped her arms at her side as it snaked around her waist.

"Je vais te faire hurler pour moi," said a deep scruffy voice of the man behind her. She really wished that she didn't understand French.

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**Cliffhanger! I bet you missed those! Whatever will happen to dear Clarice? Tell me what you think!**


	17. Anger Management

**With school almost over and finals soon to be endured and over with, I will be updating more frequently. Pinky Promise. Well, here it is, Chapter 17!** **(Heads up though, my French is NOT that great. I've been a bit out of practice, so please excuse any misinterpretation) R&R**

**Chapter 17**

**Anger Management **

"Let go of me!" she hissed, not even caring if he spoke English or not. She struggled until she freed one of her arms and pushed the blade away from her throat. She was far too livid to notice that she had cut her hand on the blade. The man looked at her bewildered just before she elbowed him in the jaw and stomped on his instep. He let her go quickly as he stumbled backwards, dropping his only means of defence. When he looked back up at her, he was greeted with the sole of her shoe coming at him with gaining force. He fell to the alley floor with a thud. Fear filled his eyes as Clarice reared back and kicked him multiple times in the abdomen. She may have been a little out of practice, but one scumbag was easy to subdue.

"S'il vous plait!" he begged. "Arrêtez!" But he cries fell on deaf ears as Clarice continued to kick him as hard as she could. "S'il vous plait! Michel!"

It was then, Clarice noticed another figure running from out of the shadows. This one was slightly larger than the one on the ground, and a chill went down Clarice's spin. One was easy, but she did not know how well she could take on two at one time, even if one was already beaten to a pulp. However, before the figure reached her, he skidded to a stop.

"Je ne pense pas que c'est une idée intelligente, monsieur." Hannibal's voice hissed. Clarice turned to see him at the mouth of the alleyway holding a small pistol. It was strange to see him with a gun, but sometimes that was the only way to get the message across. "Maintenant, allez."

The man wasted no time in running in the opposite direction. Clarice watched until the man disappeared just as quickly as he had appeared. A whimper came from the man crumpled on the ground. Clarice gave him another quick, painful kick to the abdomen.

"I think that's enough, my dear." He pulled out a handkerchief and placed it on Clarice's bleeding hand. She looked down to see the red stain forming on the perfect white cloth. She looked up as Hannibal crouched down in front of the man. The vagabond was too weak and bloodied to move. Hannibal gentle helped him to a sitting position. "Est-ce que ça va?"

"Oui, monsieur!" he said breathlessly to Hannibal. "Merci!"

"Ne me remerciez pas, pour le moment." Hannibal said with a glint in his eyes that made the man pale. "Vous agressé ma femme. Je crains que je vais devoir te tuer."

Picking up the man's knife from the alley floor, Hannibal severed the man's femoral artery. He pulled out another handkerchief from his pocket and cleaned any prints off of the handle. Within a minute the man was silent and motionless.

"Clarice," Hannibal said softly, turning to where she stood with her back turned to the bloody scene. He raised his hand to gently touch her arm. When she didn't flinch away, he turned her to face him. She wasn't upset or angry as she had been. She held a blank expression on her face and refused to look him in the eye.

"Just another parasite, huh?" she asked.

"Yes."

"And this can't be stopped?"

"Afraid not," Hannibal told her as he placed a hand on her cheek. He could see in her eyes that she never truly expected anything different from him. She always had this strange way off seeing past what the world saw and seeing him, just as he was. She had fallen in love with society's nightmare and knew what came with that. He looked down to her injured hand. "Let me see that."

She held it up and he removed the, now blood soaked, handkerchief. The cut was deeper than he had initially thought. Blood began trickling down her hand, only to splash in the tiniest of pools at their feet.

"I can stitch this up, easy." He said, gently placing the handkerchief back on the wound.

"I'm sorry," Clarice said. Hannibal looked up to meet her gaze. They silently stared at each other for a moment.

"As am I, my dear, but shall we discuss this at home? Calmly this time?" Clarice nodded. He led the way out of the alley and on the walk home. "Tell me, what names have you thought about for this baby of ours?"

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**Hoped you liked it. Please tell me what you thought, I love hearing from you!**


	18. The Protégée

**A/N: Hello again dearest, most patient, lovely reader. I know it has been a very long while since my last posting. I'm afraid the muse has quite left me in this endeavor, but I could not leave you without an ending. It has been a good long run and I appreciate you all ever so much for reading and supporting my first fan fiction. I only hope that I have not disappointed you with the delayed postings or the abrupt end of this tale. Nevertheless, all things must come to an end. And without further adieu, I give you the last installment of this story. **

**Chapter 18**

**The Protégée **

Buenos Aries was beautiful in the spring. Thousands of people flooded the streets that May, most likely because of the Argentina Bicentennial. But whatever the reason, one thing was for sure, the crowded city of Buenos Aries was the perfect place to hide in plain sight.

The Teatro Colón was especially crowded that night. It was the eve of the opera house's 102nd birthday. However, that was not why hundreds of people were swarmed outside waiting to enter. This was the night of the grand reopening gala of the opera house after years of renovations. The world's most distinguished lovers of the arts filed into the giant opera house, all of which were dressed in their finest.

In the midst of the throng, a woman stood in the main hall staring at the magnificent room. Like everyone around her, she was enthralled by the beauty of the opera house. Her thick blonde curls fell delicately down her back as she looked up at the decorative ceiling. Her long black dress was one of the finest in the room, with its formfitting bodice, open back, and flowing skirt. She was so beautiful and luring that it came as no surprise that she caught the eye of a certain rich middle-aged gentleman with a reputation of taking advantage of the young and beautiful.

Antonio Ortega de la Vega came from a very prominent Argentinian family. Not only that, but her was also a very wealthy architect, who had just finished helping reconstruct the opera house. With his wealth and power, he was not accustomed to being told 'no'. However rare, when someone denied him his whims, it never turned out good for the outspoken party. His family had done a suburb job of keeping his transgressions swept under the rug. De la Vega's family couldn't afford the scandal of one of their own being locked away on rape and assault charges.

Tonight, his sights had been caught by this desirable young woman. By his judgments she was between 19 and 23, beautiful, obviously rich due to her air and apparel, and soon she would be putty in his hands. All he had to do was whisk her away to one of the many vacant rooms of the opera house, away from the crowds.

"Stunning isn't it." Said the man as he made his way over to stand next to the young woman. She looked slightly surprised to see that she was being spoken to.

"Yes," she answered when she found her confidence once again. Her accent carried something of an American New Englander with a hint of Catalan. "It is very lovely."

"But nowhere near as breathtaking as the beauty that stands before me." He gave a slight bow as the young woman concealed a blush.

"Thank you," she said. To the gentleman's delight, it caused her slight discomfort. He liked to watch as they squirmed. "Forgive me, I am not accustom to receiving compliments from strangers."

"Antonio Ortega de la Vega," he smiled.

"The architect?" she asked. He was pleased that she had heard of him. This was going to be easier than her thought.

"The very same. And what, my dear, is your name?"

"Lavinia Allen," she told him. She offered her had to shake, but he took it and brought it to his lips. It was only after he kissed her hand that her name rang a bell.

"Allen? As in Dr. Jakob Allen the opera house's historian?" de la Vega asked.

"My father," she smiled softly. De la Vega could not believe his luck. The girl he was going to seduce was none other than Jakob Allen's daughter. Allen was an old precocious coot, who had embarrassed de la Vega in front of the Teatro Colón renovation board and owners. De la Vega had lashed back with insults, but Allen seemed impervious. Now was his chance at ultimate revenge on that old coot. Oh, de la Vega was going to enjoy this.

"You don't say. Your father was not a fan of my work, but tell me Lavinia, what is your opinion of it." He motioned to the room round them. She gave a small smile.

"My father and I tend to have similar taste, but I must disagree with him here. I find it spectacular." She answered. De la Vega took two glasses of champagne from a butler as he walked passed and offered her one.

"A toast," de la Vega offered. "To the Teatro Colón. I made her beautiful again, but put her to shame when you walked through her doors." Lavinia blushed, but accepted the toast and took a sip of her champagne.

"You are too kind, Señor. Too many more of these compliments, and I'm afraid that your design will grow envious of me. " Lavinia smiled. De la Vega moved closer to her.

"You know, I could show you other rooms far more beautiful than this, though they are still in no contest against your exquisiteness. Mind you, they are not exactly open to the public, but I could arrange a private tour." He slyly offered.

"I was supposed to meet my parents in our box before the music starts." Lavinia explained.

"It will not take long, my beauty," he grinned. "I shall make it of short duration, but memorable nonetheless." He offered his arm to her, which she reluctantly took. He led her away from the crowds and down one corridor and then another until they reached a tall ornate door. De la Vega opened it to reveal a dark room, only illuminated by the city lights coming in through the window. Lavinia walked in further to examine the room, which was indeed beautiful just darkened by the night. She walked over to gaze out the window at the crowded streets below.

"So this is the tour?" Lavinia asked expectantly. De la Vega walked closer as he took off his coat and loosened his tie. He expected to see a shudder, either of desire or repulsion, from the young woman, but there was none. She merely stood there with both hands on her small clutch bag.

"You may be young, but surely you aren't that naïve," de la Vega taunted lightly. He began to slowly close the gap between them, but as he did, the faint sound of music echoed in the room.

"I believe that's my cue," Lavinia said as she started to cross back towards the door. De la Vega caught her arm roughly, causing her to turn.

"You don't leave, until I say you can." De la Vega's voice had turned from charming to course. When Lavinia gently tried to tug her arm away, he pulled her close and tried to place a forced a kiss upon her lips.

Unfortunately for Antonio Ortega de la Vega, he had bitten off more than he could chew.

She was stronger than he thought as she pushed away from his advances. De la Vega was inches from her skin when a painful sensation came to his stomach. He doubled over in pain.

"Now that was very rude of you," Lavinia said coldly. "As were the insults you hurdled at my father during the board meeting." De la Vega retracted only to be met by a blow to the throat, which took away his ability to shout. He looked up in time to see Lavinia's fist hurdling towards his face. He then felt as her stiletto hit him in the chest, knocking him back onto the floor. He began to cower away when he heard the door open.

"Lavinia Mischa Lecter," called an old man's voice. De la Vega had never been so happy to hear Dr. Allen's voice in his entire life. "What are you doing?"

"Dr. Allen," croaked de la Vega hopefully. He didn't even notice the different name that Dr. Allen had called his daughter. As the older gentleman drew near, he completely ignored the wounded man.

"I couldn't just do it while he was trying to kiss me." Lavinia told her father. Hannibal looked down at the man on the floor and gave him a savage grin.

"So you took your mother's method, I see." Hannibal turned back to look at his daughter. "She'll be so proud to find out that you actually were paying attention when she was trying to teach you."

"When push comes to shove, it's come in pretty handy." Lavinia told him with a sly grin.

"I guess the apple doesn't fall far from the tree." Hannibal smirked as he reached in his pocket to retrieve his harpy. The shinning of the blade caused a cold chill of fear to run down de la Vega's spine.

"What are you doing?" he rasped again. His eye grew wide as the blade was placed against his cheekbone just below his left eye.

"I did warn him that you and I had similar taste." Lavinia admitted to her father. Hannibal looked back up at his daughter as they shared a smile.

"That's my girl."

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**I hope you enjoyed it! **


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